Carly stared at the inhaler in her hands, the white plastic actuator stark against her skin.
She hadn't seen the thing in years, hadn't even known that Spencer had kept it long after the expiration date imprinted on the metal cylinder. And while she knew the reason he'd held on to it, Carly wished heartily that he had thrown it away.
Oh, she knew that it had been the thing to keep her with Spencer and if he hadn't, her grandfather might not have changed his mind about letting her stay in Seattle, but it was a reminder of the very last time she'd needed to use it.
"Carly?" Spencer called softly, as he sat down beside her.
Despite their Grandfather leaving Carly to his care, Spencer still could not sleep and had spent the last few hours tossing and turning in his bed. He'd finally given up, pulling himself from his covers, when he saw the dim light of the living room lamp.
"I thought you'd gotten rid of this after..." she curled her fingers around the object, letting her head slide onto Spencer's shoulder. "I mean you got rid of everything reminded us of her, took down all her pictures."
"I couldn't. I was too scared," he admitted as he wrapped one around around her. "You had the worst attack of your life at mom's funeral. And I wanted to throw it away after that, but every time I did, I thought 'what happens if Carly has a bad attack and this is the only thing that keeps her alive'."
They sat in the silence for a moment, both caught up in the memory of their mother's funeral. So many people had come to say goodbye to Angela Shay, they'd filled the room with her casket to capacity and the hallway as well. The processional had been twelve cars long, only their closest friends and family permitted at the burial, and it was on that ride that Carly had begun to gasp for air.
Spencer could honestly say he'd never in his life feared for his sister more than he had that day. The limo had been slowly driving behind the hearse, he had been able to hear the steady monotonous click of the hazard lights through the partition, then, through her tears, Carly had looked at him in a panic and frantically reached for the backpack thrown at her feet.
Whatever had come next, Spencer couldn't say – all he could recall was seeing his sister's lips turning blue and then standing on the side of the road, his grandfather holding one of Carly's hands while Spencer rubbed her back. The processional had pulled over and all eyes had turned to watch her as the inhaler started to calm the sudden inflammation.
Feeling Carly moving her head, Spencer looked down at the girl. Her eyes caught his briefly, and as she made herself more comfortable in his embrace, she asked, "Do you miss her?"
"Everyday," he whispered, reaching out with a finger to touch the inhaler. Stupid little thing and it had twice saved his life – once to keep Carly alive on the worst day of his life, once to keep her at his side – because while it always seemed he was careless with her, Carly was the link to their mother and he'd do anything to protect her.
"Spencer?"
"Yeah, Carls?"
he tightened her hold on him, hand equally as tight around the inhaler, and closed her eyes. "Thanks for keeping it."